


To Make a King

by lilfanficer



Series: Arya: Baratheon Queen [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:11:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilfanficer/pseuds/lilfanficer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya is sent south to marry Renly Baratheon. What lies in store for this unlikely couple?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Make a King

**Author's Note:**

> AN – Tada! Another fanfic is born! Hope this one does as well as Valar Dohaeris, and I promise to update both of them regularly… so please comment!

Jon was right. That was first thought that struck Arya as she entered the gates of Kings Landing. He had told her in his letter that it was a true city; thousands of times the size of Winterfell. And from what Arya could see a thousand times the people too. They were everywhere, busying themselves in a flurry of activity. There was noise everywhere and Arya’s innate curiosity had her desperately wanting the chance to explore this exciting place. The voice of one of her escorts reminded her why she was there and killed any hope of gaining the freedom to do such things.

‘My Lady, we have arrived. Your betrothed, Lord Renly, is waiting to greet you. See.’ The middle-aged knight pointed to a group of figures a bit ahead of them; the foremost of which she could see wore black and yellow clothing. Baratheon colours. The colours of the House of her future lord husband; Lord Renly Baratheon of Storms End.

Upon reaching each other and coming face to face for the first time, Lord Renly embraced her as if they had known each other for years and not just a few seconds. Arya stood frozen, unsure of what she should do. Septa Mordane had told her to simply smile graciously and offer him her hand to kiss but now her hands flailed awkwardly behind her betrothed’s back as she didn’t know where she should place them.

After a moment, her panic passed and she mimicked his actions, wrapping her arms around his torso and relaxing into the embrace. His clothes were as soft as Nymeria’s fur and he smelled strongly of flowers. Lord Renly was the first to pull back, smiling, having seemingly gotten the reaction her wanted. Unbidden Arya smiled back. Her betrothed’s smile was quite infectious. It lit up his boyish features and revealed two neat rows of pearly white teeth.

‘Welcome, my dear. I trust you had a pleasant journey.’

‘Yes, My Lord,’she replied, respectfully.

‘Wonderful! Then let us head to the castle so that you may rest from it.’ With that both of their parties made their way towards the Red Keep.

But the rest that he had promised her did not come until much later. First Arya had to greet the royal family and be introduced to various other members of the court.

For the most part they failed to live up to her expectations. The King especially disappointed her. From all the stories that her father had told her about his strong and valiant friend Arya had anticipated a fierce warrior. Instead all she saw was a fat, old man who was as fat as he was tall and who appeared to be drunk even though the sun was still high in the sky. What’s more the way he stared at her made her feel uncomfortable; a mix of shock and longing. For what Arya did not dare think about.

The Queen’s beauty, however, matched the rumours of it. Though it was significantly marred by the creased brow and glaring eyes directed at Arya as she noticed the attention that she was receiving from the King. She did not particularly like the crown prince either. He looked upon her and her escorts with haughty boredom, his plump, girly lips pouted and wearing the crimson and gold of his mother’s House as opposed to his father’s.

Princess Myrcella and the younger prince, Tommen, seemed nice enough. They greeted her amicably with open and friendly smiles. Arya believed that the three of them may even become friends in the future.

After bowing and paying her respects to them she was introduced to a great number of other nobles. She forgot most of the names upon hearing them but only a couple really stood out to her. 

The Hand, Jon Arryn, who had been her father and King Robert’s foster father when they were boys. The old man’s quiet and serious nature reminded her of her father and she instantly took a liking to him. He made excuses and begged her pardon for the absence of her lady aunt and her cousin; they were both apparently feeling unwell and were thus unable to attend her welcoming. Her mother had warned her of her sister’s fragile nature and her over protectiveness so Arya had offered her forgiveness and moved on without questioning her good-uncle further.

The other who had caught her attention was Ser Loras Tyrell; the third son of one of Lord Renly’s bannermen, Mace Tyrell who had been part of the group that had welcomed her at the gates. What struck her was not his dazzling beauty – for he surely had plenty of it – but the way in which he seemed to vastly despise her. Much in the same way the Queen had. It was not so obvious with the young knight, however, and at first Arya thought that she was imagining it but as the day wore on she notice more and more through his body language and clipped tone his immediate dislike of her.

Perhaps he thinks me unworthy of his liege lord. Arya thought as she was led from the throne room to her chambers by a servant. It was the only reason she could think of to explain the knight’s obvious hatred of her. He must have heard the rumours of her wild nature from Winterfell. Afterall, there were bound to be some tradesmen that travelled along the Kings Road, visiting both Winterfell and Highgarden that could pass on such tales.

Arya decided not to dwell on it any longer as she buried herself in the covers of her new bed and fell asleep.

The next few moons that Arya spent in the capital were far more enjoyable than she had thought they would be. Renly was excellent company and he did not seem to mind at all her tomboy ways; he took her riding whenever she asked and even gifted her with a beautiful Dornish mount for her sixteenth name day and when they were seated beside one another at the feasts he would amuse her with hilarious and sometimes rude japes that would have her sides splitting with laughter. Once he had even taken her to the dungeons to see the dragon skulls and told her tales about the Targaryen kings and queen who rode them. All this was almost enough to make Arya forget the yearning she felt for the north and for her family.

Even still, despite the fun she had with Renly, they actually had very little in common. Arya didn’t feel… connected to him. That was, at least, until she managed to land herself in trouble.

She had been alone that day; Renly had gone off with his friend Ser Loras Tyrell to play cyvasse, leaving Arya to her own devices. She had taken full advantage of the opportunity to get out of her uncomfortable, lady-like clothing and don a tunic and breeches.

She was crossing the courtyard, Needle fastened to her hip and was just about to reach the stables so she could saddle a horse and ride out into the city unsupervised when a familiar voice called out from behind her. Joffrey.

‘Hey!’ Arya kept moving, praying that he didn’t mean her. Her prayers were ignored.

‘I said, hey. You there. Boy.’ Arya looked around. Here was no mistaking it; he meant her. But at least he hadn’t recognised her. To keep it that way she made sure to keep her head down and her voice low as she approached him.

‘Y-yes, my prince,’she said, trying to sound meek and respectful. She was loath to do so but if word of this got back to her parents, or perhaps even Renly, she would never see the light of day again. They’d never let her outside – chaperoned or otherwise.

‘That’s a nice sword you have there. Where did you steal it from?’

Arya felt her cheeks burn and her temper flare. She struggled to keep herself in check. ‘I didn’t steal it, Your Highness. It was a gift.’

The gold-haired prince scoffed before his face took on a cruel smirk. Uh-oh. ‘Stolen or not. Do you know how to use that sword.’

Arya didn’t like where this was going but some of the other knights in the courtyard had huddled around them to watch the exchange, preventing any chance of her escaping.  
‘Just a little, Your Highness,’ she answered, edging away slightly. She realise almost immediately that this was the wrong thing to do as Joffrey seemed to grow more eager, placing his hand upon his sword. He drew it out; a beautiful piece of Valyrian steel attached to a gold plated hilt. And twice the thickness of Needle.

‘Draw your sword boy. Show me this ‘little’.’

Arya hesitated and then did as she was bidden. Better to be beaten quickly so she could leave. She held on to this thought as Joffrey landed shallow blows to her flesh and knocked her to the ground. He loomed over her, sword raised.

As he began to lower it in the direction of her heart, her instincts took over and she swept his legs out from under him, knocking the sword out of his hand in the process. Arya pressed her own to his throat for a moment before she realised what she had done. The spectators were beginning to close in and as fast as she could Arya darted in between two shocked knight out of the courtyard and into the Red Keep. She could her pursuers behind her so she fled to the safety of her bedchamber, bolting the door behind her.  
There she stopped to catch her breath and came to a dreadful realisation; Joffrey had seen her face. She was sure of it.

Arya’s suspicions were confirmed as later guards came and dragged her to the throne room. She had had just enough time to change back into her previous attire and destroy the boy’s clothes in the hearth before they banged on her door.

Both of them were Lannister men and they took her before the King. To the side the Queen was next to Joffrey, her arm protectively around her son’s should as she glared daggers at Arya.

Suddenly the side doors swung open and Renly stormed in.

‘What is the meaning of this? Why is my betrothed being treated like a common criminal.’ he interrogated.

Cersei rose to the challenge. ‘Because she is. Harming the crown prince is treason. The rabid little bitch nearly cut Joff’s head off.’ She turned to her husband. ‘She must be punished.’

Robert Baratheon said nothing, looking like he’d rather be anywhere but there. Renly was the one to break the silence.

‘And just when did this almost-decapitation happen?’ he asked.

The Queen went red with fury. ‘Not a bell ago. In the courtyard. She-‘ Renly cut her off.

‘That is impossible. You see, Lady Arya has been with me all morning. In fact, I had only been out of her company for a few minutes when I heard that she had been brought here.’ At that he looked at her, giving a discrete wink that went unnoticed by the others in the room.

‘That-that…’

King Robert took charge then. He looked considerably relieved. ‘Well if that’s the case then the matter is closed. You will have to look for this mysterious assailant elsewhere.’  
The older woman protested but he would hear none of it. Renly took Arya by the arm and escorted her from the room, the door closing on Cersei’s irate figure. It wasn’t until they were well out of the hearing of the others that they both broke down with laughter.

As it died down their eyes met and from then on it felt like it was just the two of them against the world.


End file.
